


A Toast to Innocence, a Toast to Time

by Duck_Life



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Disassembled, Emotional Baggage, Four Horsemen, Friendship, Gen, Horsemen of Salvation, Uncanny X-Men (2018)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 20:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: Jean has a talk with Warren Worthington III, Nate Grey's "Angel of Life."





	A Toast to Innocence, a Toast to Time

“You’re not gonna kill him, are you?” Jubilee asks, peering at Jean over the top of her shades. “I mean, I know he’s made some screwball choices recently… the faux-hawk chief among them… but it’s, ya know, Warren.”

Jean gives her a withering look. “No, Jubilation, I’m not going to kill him. Obviously.”

“Alright, just checkin’,” she says. “With everyone switching sides these days, I can’t keep straight who the bad guys and the good guys are s’posed to be. Had to get Sam to make me a flowchart.”

“I’m handling this,” Jean says. “Would you just go update Laura and Lucas?”

“Who the fuck’s Lucas?” Jean narrows her eyes. “I’m kidding! Je _ sus _ . You used to have a sense of humor,” Jubes says, stalking off. 

Jean sighs. “I used to have a lot of things,” she mumbles before stepping into the room where they’re keeping Warren. 

He stares at her as she draws closer. “So,” Warren says, rattling the chains around his wrists, “when did we install this BDSM torture chamber?”

“It’s pre-Emma, if you can believe it,” Jean says. His wings are held fast with a couple of magnets that Hank designed. No damage to the joints or feathers, but a tight hold nonetheless. She can’t help but picture him in the Morlock tunnels, though, with his wings pinned like a dead butterfly. “I just want to talk to you, Warren.”

He scoffs. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. To all of you,” he tells her. “Trying to spread the good word. Salvation is  _ here _ .”

“Salvation. Right,” she sighs. “Warren, whatever my son is telling you… it’s not true. Parts of it, maybe, but not entirely. He’s inflating and distorting the truth to get you and Magneto and everyone else to do what he says.”

“We  _ should _ do what he says. What he says actually makes sense, unlike everything else everyone’s been telling me since… since  _ ever _ ,” Warren says. “I don’t understand you, Jeannie. You should be  _ proud _ of him, what he’s accomplishing.”

“He’s misguided. He thinks he’s above everything else… thinks the universe should do what he wants it to,” Jean says. “I’m one of a very small handful of people who can honestly say they know  _ exactly _ where his head’s at right now. And I want to stop him before he goes to far.” She puts a hand over her mouth, tries to compose herself. “I already… I already lost Nathan Christopher. I won’t lose Nate.”  

“You didn’t care for him!” Warren yells, surging forward, causing his restraints to clink and strain. “You didn’t look out for him, just let him wander through an unfamiliar universe all alone.  _ He _ looks out for  _ us _ . All of us, mutants, humans, abominations. He’s going to  _ save _ us.” 

“Not like this,” Jean says. “Not by deciding that he’s judge, jury and executioner. God’s sake, Warren, we’ve  _ been here _ . We’ve  _ dealt with this crap before _ . The Phoenix, the Beyonder, Onslaught. Every time somebody gets too big for their britches, everyone else suffers for it. And  _ you _ of all people—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Warren snaps, his voice drenched with bitterness. “Why ‘me of all people’?”

“You should know better,” Jean says. “You’ve been used and manipulated and controlled by so many puppet masters. How can you go right back to—”

“This is different,” Warren says, grinding his teeth together. The golden markings on his face glint in the dim light. “Nate Grey is  _ different _ . He’s not using me, he’s… empowering me.”

“Maybe he thinks that,” she says. “But this plan is going to blow up in his face and you’re going to get caught in the fallout.”

She stares at him and he meets her gaze right back, not flinching, not blinking. And finally he says, “So?”

That throws her. “What do you mean, ‘So?’”

“Who cares if I die if it means saving the world?” Warren says. “That’s what we all signed up for. Back when it was just the five of us, remember? It was all for this. For right now.”

And that’s it, that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Jean’s hand comes up to cover her face, trying to salvage her last shred of composure. If she cries in front of Warren while she’s trying to reason with him, that’s it for her, there’s no coming back, no regaining the upper hand. 

Maybe she never had it to begin with.

“You can’t do this to me,” she says finally, pulling her hand away so he can see the look on her face, the hectic patches of red, the wide eyes, the hurt. This isn’t Marvel Girl or Phoenix, this isn’t Jean-Grey-the-Leader. 

She’s just Jeannie now. And he’s just a rich kid with a taste for designer overcoats and delusions of grandeur. 

“You can’t go off the deep end like this, okay?” she says, voice wavery. “Scott’s gone. Bobby’s covering himself up with even more layers of sarcasm and dad jokes than ever before. I don’t even feel like I  _ know _ Hank anymore, some of the risks he’s taken, decisions he’s made. You were supposed to be the steady one,” she says, jabbing a finger at her old, old friend. “You were a  _ rock _ , Worthington. What the hell happened?”

For the first time since she walked in the room, Warren actually looks… unsure. Shaken, like what she says is actually sinking in instead of bouncing off. After a long silence, he admits, “I… I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.” More silence. Jean waits. Warren says, “Do you… do you remember what Scotty said the day… the day you all met Archangel?”

Jean pinches the bridge of her nose. “He said a lot of stuff. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Warren scowls. “None of you knew yet. I was wearing the mask still, and Apocalypse was showing me off. Scott got so damn angry, and he was just yelling at Apocalypse, you know, ‘how dare you,’ ‘that thing’s a mockery,’ etcetera etcetera.” Warren’s voice is soft and quiet now, not biting. “Scott said… Scott called me ‘an angel of life,’” Warren says, eyes filling up with old ghosts. “‘Winged, joyous life,’ that’s what he called me.” He looks away from her, down at the concrete beneath his feet. “And that’s what Nate made me,” he says. “He made me an angel of life. It’s like I can… it’s like I can finally be as good as Scotty thought I was, y’know?”

She doesn’t need to be embarrassed or ashamed of crying anymore, because he’s crying too. And they’re so goddamn old— when did that happen? “Warren,” Jean says, finally getting close enough to him to put a hand on his shoulder. She puts another hand beneath his chin and tilts his head up so she can meet his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” she says, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You have  _ always  _ been as good as Scott thought you were. Betsy knows it, Bobby knows it. You didn’t have to change anything.”

“I just… I just want to be good,” Warren confides in her. 

“You  _ are _ good,” Jean insists, and she knows it. She’s seen true evil and she’s seen true good, and she knows the people she fights alongside, knows what they have in them. “But you can’t just  _ be good _ , Warren. You have to do good, too. Not the way Nate’s telling you. Not the easy way where you just snap your fingers and take away all the guns.”

“You fighting for second amendment rights now, Jeannie?”

“After you washed your hands of that brewing conflict, the people picked up bricks and rocks,” Jean says, her voice level. “Nate’s behaving like the problems with this world are material. Not enough food, too many weapons. But he’s not seeing the bigger picture— greed, racism, apathy. It took longer than seven days to screw up the world. No one can fix it in just seven days.”

“At least he’s trying,” Warren says. 

“We’re all trying,” Jean reminds him. “That’s the point. That’s why we all get out of bed in the morning.  _ Every morning _ . It doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t happen in a week.” She sighs, pulling her hair out of her face. “If we don’t stop him, Nate is going to make a mistake that he can’t take back,” Jean says. “I need your help. Are you with me on this?” 

She looks down at the face of a man she’s seen at so many crucial junctures in his life. She’s seen this face twisted in pain, wracked with grief, angry, blank, blue. Right now she’s not sure what she’s looking at, which Warren is looking back at her. 

She wonders if  _ he _ even knows. 


End file.
